Different Kinds of Aggression
by Skalidra
Summary: In a barely-friendly spar between Hal and Barry there's a moment where everything changes between them. Well, at the least they see each other in a new light, even if both are still convinced the other is arrogant, aggravating, and only slightly less worthy of hate than the rest of the Crime Syndicate. - Earth-3 connected universe, Hal Jordan/Barry Allen. Prompt fill.


**This is part of a large continuity of stories. Please consult my profile for the master reading list if you want to read them in order.**

Alright, so this is a fill to a Tumblr prompt, - Hal/Barry, "Don't you ever do that again!" And about three dozen ideas went through my head but this is what won the fight. This, is the very start of the Hal/Barry Earth-3 relationship. Well, the start of the casual thing they have, anyway.

No warnings; enjoy!

* * *

The punch glances off of my shoulder, hard but not enough to do more than knock me forward a few inches. But it doesn't _have_ to do much since the next hits the center of my back before I can do much more than start to turn. I grit my teeth and push past the repeated impacts, letting the protection of my suit absorb most of the hits and focusing in on the green power beneath my skin.

The bladed construct lashes out behind me, forcing the speedster away from my back and giving me the second I need to turn and face him. Quick's grinning, bouncing on his heels and just slightly crouched down. I snarl at him, readying another construct in my mind in anticipation of the— He moves, and I react before my mind can catch up with exactly what he's doing. It's not possible to fight a speedster with your mind, it has to just be reactions. It has to be _instinct_.

Quick yelps when my construct slips in front of his legs, catching one of them and sending him crashing to the floor. They're training mats, so the impact isn't as nasty as it could be, but it still gives me a moment of sharp pride. My construct winds around his leg and yanks him into the air, flinging him through the air and into one of the walls. Before he even hits I'm following it up with another construct, the imitation of a staple hooking over his chest and upper arms and pinning him the second he hits. He's only still, recovering, for a second. Then he yanks against my construct and flashes me a sharp grin.

I try and keep him in the construct, tightening my grip, but then he's vibrating right through it and running at me. I put up a wall without conscious thought, letting the useless staple disintegrate and bracing as Quick hits the wall, bounces off, and darts around the side of it.

"Is that _it?_ " he taunts, slamming a harder — but slower — fist into my side as he passes.

"Regretting the spar?" I counter, spinning with another blade at the extension of my arm. He ducks backwards underneath it, then dodges the follow up stab by dancing backwards. Yellow lightning follows his movements.

"Just expected more, _Lantern_."

I push off the floor, keeping him at bay with a few sweeps of green blades at different heights as I lift into the air. " _Make_ me," I challenge, and I can see him grin a little wider.

He jerks into motion, in a blur of circular motion underneath me. I have just about enough time to create a protective ball around myself before the mini tornado has me in its grasp, and I whirl for a few sickening seconds before Quick lets it go. The momentum flings my ball across the room, down towards the floor. The ball protects me, but before I can do more than let it flicker away and refocus on Quick, he's right next to me. I snarl at the blur of yellow motion around me, wind rising as he spins faster in his circle, and bring a construct to mind. All I have to do is disrupt his pattern.

I get the construct out, and then I inhale and my throat seizes shut. I gasp, eyes widening, and get _no_ air. The construct flickers out, and my hands go to my throat as I stagger, trying to breathe but not getting anything for my efforts. I try and bring together enough concentration to lift myself out of the deadly circle but the rising, instinctual panic of not being able to breathe stops me. I collapse to my knees, my chest burning and mind _screaming_ with the singular need for oxygen.

For a few seconds, as I clutch at my throat and my chest, eyes squeezing shut, I think Quick might actually be finishing things. That I might just die right here and Quick will shrug to the rest of the Crime Syndicate, with one of his infuriating grins, and give some half-assed excuse about how I couldn't cut it, or how it was an _accident_. The idea scares the hell out of me.

Then there's a hand at my throat and I'm getting slammed onto my back, a knee in my stomach and my ring-hand pinned down beneath another. But I can _breathe_. I drag in air, choking a little bit and arching. It _hurts_ but I don't think oxygen has ever tasted sweeter.

"I win," Quick says from above me, smug and mocking.

Anger _devours_ my fear, and I ignore the half of a pin he's got me in. I knock his leg off my stomach with my free arm, shoving him into a straddle of my waist, and surge up against him. He's startled, and that's probably the only thing that lets me grab his arm, wrench it off my throat, and flip us. He hits the floor on his back, and I slam his arms down — by his left hand and his upper right arm — and bare my teeth down at him.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again!" I shout, and I can see his eyes widen behind his goggles.

"I— Do what?" He sounds more confused than anything else, and he's not fighting the reversal of his pin.

I try not to hurt him — he'd deserve it for that _bullshit_ stunt he just pulled, but he's my ally and even if he'd heal I shouldn't start a real fight — but I do tighten my grip on his hand and arm. "If you _ever_ suffocate me again I'll rip you a new one! That fucking clear enough?!"

"Jesus," Quick spits, glaring for a second and shifting underneath me. "I get it, alright? Sorry if I don't usually think about what my enemy might be _touchy_ about when I'm fighting, you jackass. What, you can't take me getting the best of you?"

"You son of a _bitch_ , that's not—"

"Don't talk about my _mother_ that way—"

Somehow his hand yanks out of my hold and knocks my arm away, my balance fails and I fall, and I barely catch myself. We both freeze. I'm about half an inch away from Quick's face, and his hand is splayed across my side like he was going to shove me back. This close I can see past his goggles' lenses to the pale blue shade of his wide eyes, and I'm suddenly _really_ aware that I'm between his legs, and his thighs are pressing into the sides of my hips. I can feel the heat of his frame even through both of our suits, and I'm hyperaware of how very _still_ he is. Quick is never this still.

I swallow, clenching my grip on his upper arm, and I can feel the hand on my side contract in reaction, fingers digging in against my suit. Quick's mouth parts, like he's going to say something, and then clicks closed again. I shift, and his thighs clench in against my hips. The pressure makes me suck in a sharp breath, he shivers, and then something snaps between us.

His mouth is clashing into mine, or maybe mine is clashing into his, and I'm pushing down into him as his hand slides around my back and pulls. He's all teeth and tongue, and I meet him with just as much of it, trying to… I don't know, trying to get or do _something_. All I know is that this feels like another fight, the teeth hooking into my lower lip as he grinds up feel like small victories for him, and I can't help but counter. I rip my mouth away and meet his downwards grind, lowering my head to get my teeth on the skin underneath his jaw. He makes a noise, a stressed sound of mixed pain and pleasure, that vibrates into my mouth from my grip on his flesh. I meet it with a rumbling growl, pushing harder and pressing more of my weight into him.

He jerks his arm out from underneath the grip of my hand, reaching up and curling his fingers through my hair. I bite just a little harder before letting him pull up my head and bring our mouths back together, as his other hand slides down my back and grips my ass, pulling as though we can get any closer. I can't feel much past the built in cup in my suit, and with a frustrated snarl I reach into the ring and dismiss that part of my suit.

Quick's suit isn't the best thing to grind against, but he's all muscle and challenging passion underneath me, and that's more than enough to keep me interested.

I lower the arm I'm not bracing on, grabbing hold of Quick's shoulders and venting some of the intensity by gripping down _hard_. He groans into my mouth, fingers tangling in my hair and the hand on my ass clenching down. Then there's the buzz of vibration against me and he's _shoving_ me away, with both hands to my chest.

I don't catch myself in time and sprawl backwards on the mats. "What the _hell_ , Quick?!" I snap, pushing myself up to my elbows.

"I have a _wife_." His voice is angry, strained, and his hands are clenched to fists where he's mostly sitting up. "You have a _girlfriend_. What the hell is your _problem?_ "

" _My_ problem? You grabbed _me_ , speedster!" He starts to move, and I roll up and get to my feet. I'm slower than him, but he pauses when he's standing to glare at me. That lets me get up at the same level as him. He's tensed and poised to move, and I bring a construct to the front of my mind just in case he lunges at me. Something simple, just a lattice to trip him and get him on the ground.

"You _bastard_." His voice is nearly a hiss, hands flexing at his sides. "I'm _loyal_."

"Yeah," I mock, "that grinding sure _felt_ loyal, Quick. Or are you one of those 'it's not cheating unless there's penetration' type husbands? Or is it just not cheating because I'm _male?_ "

Quick's jaw clenches down, twitching faster than I can react, with lightning sparking off his suit and following the tiny jerks of motions. " _Fuck_ you, Lantern."

"Chance has passed," I snap back. "Go fuck your wife if you're that desperate, _speedster_. I've got better ways to waste my time than with you."

He glares for another second, and then there's a flash of lightning and he's gone. I turn to make sure he's out of the room, and then let my shoulders ease down a little bit. I let out the breath in my lungs, dragging another in slowly as I force myself to relax. I let the construct fade out of my mind, shaking out my hand and wincing as the collection of bruises from our actual spar remind me that they exist.

What the _hell_ was that?

I've been close to Quick before, and _sure_ I noticed that he's got a good build, but I've never even seen him out of that suit. He's arrogant, and mouthy, and a smug little _bastard_. I might hate him less than most of our other allies, but that's not saying much. He's aggravating, and a pain in the ass, and I don't even _like_ him. So what the hell was that _thing_ between us? It was more passion than I've felt with almost anyone, except maybe the first couple of times with Carol. And that was just a clash; what the hell would that kind of energy and passion be in an actual fuck?

I swallow, and spit out a quiet curse as I feel myself harden a bit at the thought. That's so _stupid_. I don't even know what Quick looks like under that damn suit. I've got no idea what color his hair is, or how long it is, or _anything_ but the fact that his eyes are pale blue. There will be no _fantasies_ , I'm not that desperate or that much of a slave to my own damn cock.

… Fuck, I need a shower.


End file.
